guishable in the darkness. Down the slight slope ahead, the few lights of the town were visible. They are lights in the streets, Mr. Munn thought, and in houses; and in other houses, the houses that are dark, people are sleeping. Behind him the metal of horseshoes chinked and rang on the gravel of the pike with a steady sound. The head of the column reached the end of the slope. There the first houses were, jumbled shacks set back in tree- less yards, their grey masses undefined in the darkness. This was nigger town. In one shack a lamp was burning. Mr. Munn saw it as he rode past, and could catch a glimpse of the board table on which it sat and of the bare interior of the room, and he remembered how the wavering lamps had lighted those other cabins that night when he had hunted the knife. " Twelve-thirty," Doctor MacDonald said. " Burrus ought to be in the telephone office by now." "Yes," Mr. Munn replied. "And the wires down," Doctor MacDonald added. The column swept into a regular street. The houses, beyond the bare trees, were darkened. The street lights were out. They passed a fork in the street, where another street joined at an angle, and Mr. Munn, turning in his saddle, could dimly see that the last section of the column was diverging into the other street. It would cover, he knew, that entrance to the town. Far away, almost lost in the sound of hoofs, there was the report of a gun. Then, immediately, a volley, followed by a few spattering explosions, all innocent and unimpressive from distance. For an instant, Mr. Munn scarcely grasped the meaning of the sound; then he knew that it was Mr. Mur- dochs men. They had hit the Cherry Creek bridge and were over. " West," the man on the other side of Doctor MacDonald said, and cocked his head. " It's west, and it's Murdock." " Here goes," Doctor MacDonald announced in a conversa- tional tone, but as though he had not heard the other man.